


The Collection

by DownOnThePharm



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Fluff, Gifts, Handmade love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 08:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19080934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownOnThePharm/pseuds/DownOnThePharm
Summary: Rimmer has a sentimental streak he keeps hidden as well as he has kept Lister’s gifts over the years.





	The Collection

“Thank you, Listy. This is beautiful.” Rimmer appreciatively caressed the soft wool of the cream and blue Fair Isle jumper Lister had knitted him for his Deathday. 

Lister snuggled against Rimmer’s side on the sofa, beaming up at his partner. “Glad you like it, love. See? I put little lightbees and Hs into the pattern. Took a bit of doing, as I had to design ‘em, but it’s worth it.”

“Yes, indeed,” Rimmer replied, fondly kissing his partner’s temple. “Your workmanship is excellent. I take full credit, of course.”

“You what?” 

“Had I not so helpfully provided you with that knitting mag when we ran across Lanstrom and I had to quarantine you, you would never have discovered your talents.” Grinning, Rimmer fended off Lister’s playful swat of mock outrage. 

“Smegger. Me gran taught me to knit and crochet when I was a kid. I just didn’t do much with it until I needed a hobby. Now, c’mere and show me some appreciation, you git.” Lister pulled his hologram down for a kiss, squashing the jumper between them.

————

Rimmer loved Lister’s handmade gifts. As an unloved child and friendless young adult, rarely had anyone bothered to create something just for him. The family servants would occasionally make him small presents to try to bring a glimmer of light into his dark, sad world, and his Aunt Maggie had once sent him a pair of rather nice mittens when he was six. He had gratefully accepted each and every gift, and kept them hidden away from the prying eyes and destructive reach of his brothers. When he joined the JMC, he had brought the battered old cardboard carton that served as his treasure chest on board with him, and safely tucked it away in a cupboard where it still sat, a reminder of people who had cared for him when his family hadn’t.

The first item Lister had ever made for Rimmer was a handmade card for their first Christmas as bunkmates. Rimmer had examined it critically, made a couple of snide observations on its utter lack of artistic merit, and then carefully stashed it in a small wooden chest in the bottom of his locker, the same chest in which Mr. Flibble resided. 

Over the years, Rimmer had squirreled away every item Lister had ever made for him, no matter how small, inconsequential, or poorly crafted. In his collection, he had a garish tie Lister had made from one of his loudest Hawaiian shirts. There was a crocheted bobble hat that could easily have served as a rucksack for a three-day march, and another that would have made a decent cozy for a single-serving teapot. He had misspelled cards, wonky scarves, and an afghan that was four feet wide at one end and three at the other. He had mocked, insulted, and sneered at every project, and had dutifully and lovingly added them to his stash when Lister wasn’t looking. 

When Lister had stumbled upon his cache while poking around in Rimmer’s possessions in the first months after their revival, the hologram had sputtered and fussed and claimed that he had been storing everything until he had collected enough rubbish to make a trip to the airlock worthwhile. At the time, Lister had believed him, called him an ungrateful smeghead, and insisted on leaving everything in place to annoy him. Rimmer had breathed a secret, simulated sigh of relief at the narrow escape from disaster. Losing all of those tokens of friendship or esteem or whatever they were to the depths of space would have been devastating. Although he couldn’t handle them anymore, he knew that they were still there, and that had to be enough.

The handmade gifts had resumed once Rimmer had become hard-light and he and Lister had become romantically involved. As Lister honed his skills, his creations became ever more elaborate and brilliantly made. Sweaters with one sleeve eight inches longer than the other gave way to intricately cabled Aran jumpers. A king-sized spread crocheted in thread now adorned the bed in the Captain’s quarters. Cleverly worked patterned socks warmed holographic feet that didn’t actually need warming. No matter how many gorgeous new gifts Lister gave him, however, Rimmer adamantly refused to discard any of his cherished old treasures. As he could never adequately explain to Lister, every old card, manky tie, and ratty hat reminded him of when he finally realized that he was loved at last.

—————

The new jumper fit perfectly.


End file.
